


That Unspoken Thing (remains unspoken)

by tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [12]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alien Sex, Alien/Human Relationships, Aliens, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 04:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Peter is going to have to be quiet or Gamora’s going to get up and go away.





	That Unspoken Thing (remains unspoken)

It wasn’t possible to sneak up on Peter while he was sleeping.

He had grown up on a ship filled with Ravagers. _Renegade_ Ravagers, no less. The ones who’d broken with the code and were outcast from not only general polite society, but the somewhat less polite society… the sort of bastards who might cook and eat a skinny, ten year old Terran kid and not think anything of it.

(Yondu had said that was just a joke, but Peter wasn’t sure he believed that -- and at the time, he’d been convinced that he was always one short rationed meal away from being the main course…)

Sleeping soundly just wasn’t something that Peter did. And he would have thought, by this point, his crew would have known that.

Apparently, they hadn’t learned yet, and someone was going to end up with a paper-thin cut or a blaster scar somewhere because--

Whoever was trying to sneak into Peter’s quarters ended up supine, chin tilted up, with Peter’s knees planted on either side of their hips.

Lithesome, curvy hips, with a flat belly, a gentle swell of breasts. Long hair that clung to Peter’s hand where he had a dagger pressed to--

“Gamora!” Peter practically yelled. “What--”

She reached up and touched his mouth, her fingers soft. “Shhh, Peter.”

“What… what are you doing in here?” Peter’s whisper came out more like a strangled screech, but it was probably quieter than yelling.

And then he really got a look at what was going on; Gamora wasn’t wearing her leathers, or her space-suit. She was, instead, clad in something sheer and lacy and a shade of purple that really did not go with her skin, but since he could see her nipples right through it, Peter was not going to complain about that at all, and--

He was still straddling her, knees tucked on either side of her generous hips, leaning over her in a mockery of love or murder, and everything in Peter’s brain went completely blank.

“What the hell are you wearing? Is this a test, this is a test, right, you’re just looking for an excuse to slit my throat and…” Peter realized he was still laying on her. He jumped to his feet, yanked her up, and she stumbled, plastering herself against his front, her hands outstretched to catch herself, and it was probably a complete accident that she ended up with her palm flat against Peter’s groin, right? That couldn’t possibly be on purpose, even if Peter’s dick sprang up to meet her touch.

He scrambled out of his tee and practically yanked it over her head, because it he had to look at her breasts for much longer, he was not going to be responsible for his actions, and the actions he wanted to not be responsible for would certainly end up with his throat slit and his intestines spread from one end of the Milano to the other, and he’d just cleaned the ship, not like… three years ago. So…

Except now Gamora’s hands were on his bare chest and he would have sworn he could feel each individual ridge in the pads of her fingertips.

“Peter,” Gamora said, and her voice held just the right amount of amused confusion that he’d come to expect from her when she was actually not mad at him, that Peter stopped to listen. If she wasn’t mad at him, then he might want to hear what she had to say, and if that was the case, he needed to stop panicking long enough to pay attention. “This unspoken thing…”

“I thought there was no unspoken thing,” Peter said, “because it we spoke about it than--”

“We’re not talking about it,” Gamora said. She covered his mouth with her palm, and Peter was so, so tempted to lick her hand. One, because it was childish and petty and therefore exactly what he wanted to do. And two, because he needed, desperately needed, to know what her skin tasted like. Except if he knew that, then he’d want to do it again, and this unspoken thing was killing him. “It will remain unspoken.”

“Um, I hate to point out the obvious,” Peter said, and he did, because maybe Gamora just didn’t realize. Zehoberei were pretty close to humans, maybe she’d just sleepwalked out of her own bunk and into his by accident and any minute now she was going to realize that she was mostly naked and her hands were on Peter and Peter was staring at her, even though she was wearing his tee over her ridiculous little nothing of a nightgown. “But if you’re here, and we’re talking about the unspoken thing, then the unspoken thing’s not going to be unspoken for terribly much longer.”

“Yes, it will,” Gamora said. “Because these are the last words you are going to say until the waking cycle tomorrow, in which you will inquire as to how well I slept, and I will say fine, and everything will continue on as normal. Because if you say one more word, than this will not happen--”

“Wh--” Because of course he was going to ask what _this_ was.  

Except Gamora’s mouth came up to touch his.

It wasn’t the first time Peter’d kissed someone who obviously didn’t have any idea what kissing was supposed to be, because once her lips were on his, she just stood there. Her mouth brushing his. Her breath on his cheek. One hand on his chest and the other one sort of fluttering around in the air like a demented green butterfly. He’d had to teach Krylorians how to kiss, he’d instructed more than one Easik the tricks of the sexual trade. The Xandarians had some pretty cool sexual moves, and Peter’d been the one learning there, and let’s not even talk about the Askervarian chick.

Well, that was blatantly unfair.

How the hell was he supposed to get it on with a woman who had no idea what she was doing, who had no idea what he was going to be doing, and proper consent, which he sometimes wasn’t worried about because really, if he was going to have sexual contact with an Askervarian, consent was not the issue!

Oh.

Gamora flipped him over onto the bed and she was straddling him in the time it took to compose one mental complaint.

Aaand there went his sweatpants in a single, sweeping tear. Maybe having sex with Gamora would be a good thing.

Provided, of course, that he lived through it.

Except once Gamora had gotten them both naked, she seemed at a loss, and Peter turned her, gently, until she was laying on her back, staring up at him. He wanted to capture that moment, right there, exactly as it was. Her body warm and soft under him, cradling him in the vee of her sprawled thighs, his chest pressed against hers, looking down into her perfect face.

Peter had a reputation; he’d been arrested for consorting with a Gramarian duchess (that was totally not his fault, she’d completely come on to him, and what was he supposed to do, say no to that? But on a planet where the royalty got to decide what was and was not illegal, Peter’d gotten into a bit of trouble with the girl’s father… he expected that when she inherited the throne, she’d expunge his record, and in the meanwhile, he avoided the shit out of Gramarian shipping lanes.) and lain with an Askavarian, so people expected grand things out of him, in bed.

And on floors. And sometimes in space, and out on the sidewalk, and he should probably not think about the Dorellian orgies he’d been to, not right this very instant with Gamora in his arms and looking at him like she was wondering what she was supposed to do now.

Right.

Back to the naked woman in his bed.

That he was supposed to impress. And he couldn’t talk.

Which did make it a little more difficult.

But Gamora was here of her own choosing, it wasn’t like Peter was having to talk her into it. So he’d have to pay a bit more attention this time instead of just asking her. He brought his mouth down to hers, infinitely tender, and with a sigh like welcome, she opened her lips and let him in. He touched her, lightly, his fingers exploring her skin. He knew that Gamora’s race had tougher skin than humans, but he’d never found out if she was as sensitive, or more, or less. He had to stroke harder before she relaxed into his touch; less tease and more groping desperation.

He took her hand and used pressure on her wrist to show her how to touch him; lighter than what she could take, and he hoped to frell that she didn’t bite him, because her teeth were damn sharp and his skin _was_ sensitive. And then he stopped caring about that, because Gamora was licking his chest, and he was beyond heeding anything like Reason and Sense.

Peter was drawn to that mouth again, green and lucious as leaves, and she opened to him without any protest. He tasted the spark of fire against her mouth and drove his tongue deep into her, sinful and seductive.

Her arms went around his shoulders and she pulled him down on her, an alien grip, hard and steely, and it was a cage he’d be delighted to live inside. He surrendered to her, surrendered to the nameless, unspoken thing between them.

He didn’t want anything but her, the scent of her, the feel of her skin against his, her heat and passion, and her fierce, powerful body. He wanted to know her, the way he hadn’t ever known anyone before.

His hand closed, brazen and possessive, over her breast. He was ravishing her mouth with slow, sensuous strokes of tongue. A promise and a temptation at the same time, a bold mimicry of how he wanted to push himself inside her, make her ache to be loved. To be his.

Gamora made a sound, some quiet, unearthly noise under him, and Peter burned for her. He touched, stroked down her skin. _Show me, show me, teach me everything_. He got her hand on his wrist, pulled her down to the place where their bodies would join together -- if that was even possible. Some aliens didn’t have sex like that, and Gamora was the last of her kind. Maybe she was--

But no, his fingers dipped between her legs and found the wet, heated center of her, and that was a relief, to know that he could, would, be able to penetrate. Not that he hadn’t managed other ways, but without being able to talk to her, to ask, to understand, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to bring her any pleasure.

He ranked his other hand down her body until he reached her hips and dragged himself roughly over her, pushed against her until they were moving together, rutting in almost perfect unison.

He wanted to be inside her, touch that throbbing heat, make it his own. Make her his own. Wanted to drive deep inside her, claim her, drown in her. Wanted, wanted, wanton.

So very eager. _Insatiable_.  

“Gamora.”

“Shut up, Peter, don’t… don’t talk to me.”

Peter stroked one finger against her opening, and she shuddered. “I have to. You… I… tell me yes, you want, please…”

“It’s an unspoken thing, Peter,” Gamora snapped, and she was angry, withdrawing from him, and he was going to have to let her go.

He didn’t want to, but he leaned to one side, let her slip out from under him. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Can’t what?” She was standing on the side of his bed, staring down at him, the evidence of his naked want, one arm crossed over her chest. “The great Starlord, two times galaxy savior, and pelvic sorcerer! I thought you _wanted_ me.”

“Ain’t no lie there, Gamora,” Peter said, and he balanced on one elbow to look at her. “But not enough to risk the unspoken thing.”

She glared at him, and Peter knew she would. He would have laughed if she hadn’t been so desperately confused.

“If we’re speaking of it, it’s not unspoken!”

“Then let it be spoken,” Peter said, “Because I’m not laying a finger on you without your yes.”

“You are so stupid.”

“And you’re very beautiful. And that’s a bad combination,” Peter said. He offered her a hand, to draw her back, light enough that she could easily pull away. “Don’t gotta speak much. Just give me your yes, Gamora. That’s all I need, to hear it that you want this.”

She let him draw her back down, and her mouth came to his with a soft, barely audible yes spoken against his lips, but at least it was there. Enough for him. Enough for her.

Perhaps, enough for them.

And the unspoken thing between them.

_You’re mine. Mine, for as long as I can hold you._

He touched her, then, stroked the opening to her. His fingers slid into the core of her, felt her heat and the tight pull of her muscles there, the liquid evidence of her desire. He slid his fingertips around, exploring her folds and flesh, seeking. She made a low, snarling noise and reached between her legs, to his hand.

“Like this, idiot,” she told him, rough and harsh in his ear. She had to know that their bodies were different, didn’t she? She did, because she directed his fingers to a node to one side of her opening, then across to the other. He forked his fingers to slide down both sides at once and she jolted against him. She quivered and shuddered and strained against his hand. “Thumbs, you have thumbs, don’t you? Did the makers of the universe give you--”

And he thrust into her, then, pushing into her damp, slick heat. She stretched her legs open, obscenely, and instead of cradling her to him as he would another sort of woman, he let both hands go to those nodes on their side of her. Fingers splayed over her emerald thighs, thumbs working over those little nubs. He didn’t… with no arms to balance, he couldn’t thrust. He managed a wriggle against her and her inner walls clamped down, squeezing.

“Roll over,” Peter told her. “You on top.”

“Yes,” she said. “Always.”

They moved and scootched and struggled, but at last she was mounted on him, he was sheathed to the hilt in her, and his hands were where she needed them.

Small, lustful sounds were torn out of her throat as he rocked her, rocked them together, each movement slow and deliberate. Waves of feeling swept over him, a tidal pull and push, like the gravity between earth and the moon. She urged him on, the tight heat of her squeezing around him like a hand inside a velvet glove.

She hung there, stunning in her beauty, while pleasure cascaded over him. And something… something inside her touched him.

“ _Oh my god_ , what is that?” Peter yelped, eyes stretching wide with astonished delight as she somehow stroked his length inside her body. Like being licked at the same time he was fucking into her, and she arched her back, breasts high and firm and proud.

He couldn’t stop, couldn’t bear to stop, took her fiercely, hard and relentless. She was pure power, infinite energy, moving over him like a storm, surging high on the tide of their lovemaking. Passionate rage that surrounded him, threatened to tear him to pieces. Fury and joy at once and he gloried in it.

She squeezed down, crying out savagely. “Peter!”

The thing inside her moved, shifted, and then he was coming, hard, and it went on and on as if there was no end to it, one perfect moment that would last forever. She cried out again, a wet gush of liquid between her legs, and then her insides were squeezing harder, almost sucking, like she was drawing in his come. It blasted through him, oversensitive as he was, and as fierce as a lightning strike, he came again, dry. He’d wanted to possess her, to own her, to make her his.

Instead, he was hers.

It shattered him.

And he was remade.

Above the gradual slowing of their hearts, the rush of breath, the pulse of blood, Peter could hear the ship-sounds. The Milano was close to a gate, they would need to put aside love and lust and get back to work, soon.

Cautiously, he eased his body out from under her, and Gamora brushed a kiss across his mouth, light and playful. She was warm and soft, limp with exhaustion and sated.

“Did I sleep?” she asked him.

“For a little while,” he told her. “You can stay, if you want. I--”

“No, not yet,” Gamora told him. She slid out of his bed, found a towel that wasn’t entirely filthy to clean herself with. The lingering scent of their tryst was like spice and moss and perfect quiet places. “To sleep together, this would--”

“Give words to our unspoken thing?”

“Something like that.”

She wasn’t ready to say it, yet. Peter knew that. And he knew he was a selfish bastard, and that he wouldn’t say it, until she was ready.

“Well, whenever you want to not talk again,” Peter said, leaving the door open.

She didn’t answer that, but she did smile and her mouth was generous and her eyes were sparkling.

It was enough.

For now.


End file.
